Snape's Paws
by ShatteredAngelWings
Summary: Snape's been missing for nearly a month and no one can find him. Hermione finds an injured dog and decides to take him home—if only she hadn't! SSHG. Rated for Self-harm, attempted suicide, abuse, suicide and maybe later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Snape's Paws

_Muggle London, England, 2003, October 20th_

One

Severus Snape had been missing since the end of August. The Ministry had sent out several teams of Aurors with half-assed attempts to find the dour Potions master but to no avail. Slowly, he became old news but the Hogwarts staff and the Golden Trio kept searching; they wouldn't rest until they found him.

Hermione Granger was walking through the snow-covered park near her studio/flat when she heard it: a soft, pitiful whine. She turned towards the sound and stepped closer, snow crunching beneath her boots.

Parting the bushes, she saw a skeletally thin, lanky-haired dog. It was breathing shallow and seemed to be in pain due to the bleeding gashes on its back. She dropped to her knees and stroked the side of its snout; the lips curled back in a weak snarl and black eye rolled up to hers.

"Ssh, you're gonna be just fine, baby," she whispered to the injured animal. It whined and turned its head away as she picked it up—bloody hell, it weighed less a kitchen chair—easily and stroked its underside. She then found out it was a male dog.

"Who did this to you, baby boy? I absolutely hate animal abusers." She carried the dog back to her studio, where she kicked off her boots and pulled off her coat. The dog laid down the moment his paws touched the carpet. "Here," she whispered, casting a glance around before casting the spell. "_Ferula_." Bandages laced over his back and stopped the bleeding. Seeming more comfortable, the dog slowly got to his feet and started towards the fireplace.

"How about some food?"

At the word food, the dog's spiky ears perked up and he wagged his tail a tiny bit. Hermione smiled and set about fixing him some food. "You haven't by chance seen a tall, thin man with long black hair, a sour expression and black eyes, have you?"

The dog stared at her very hard, as though trying to tell her something as she set down a bowl of kibble and a bowl of water. "Want them by the fire?" she asked as he padded over to the fireplace and rested there while she turned it on.

"He's very important to me," she continued, peeling off her damp socks. Her sweatshirt came off, revealing an off-the-shoulder crop top and she piled her hair into a half-assed bun. Her sweats were chilled but not damp so she kept them on. "He was the bravest man I ever knew," [1] she said to the dog.

He huffed and settled his head between his paws, gazing at her calmly. "You're a really quiet dog," she said as she stroked behind his ears. Her nose wrinkled. "You, mister, need a bath though but that'll wait until your back gets better." He snorted at her and she had the sense he was laughing at her.

"I have a cat, though. He's somewhere. Crooks?" Hermione called behind her. The fat, orange Familiar padded around the corner, gave the dog a suspicious look before walking closer, settling himself right against the dog's side.

"Well, Crooks, you've never done that. You _hate _dogs." The witch tugged at her ear. The dog huffed at her as his tail thumped. Crookshanks purred and settled down in a stretch, purring contentedly. "What should I call you?"

She rattled off a few names.

"You remind me of a dog I once had when I was little." She strokes underneath the canine's chin, to which he thumped his tail at. "His name was Cyrus." The dog rested his cheek against her wrist and stared at her in the most unnerving way. She shifted uncomfortably.

"I think I'll call you Darcy." She smiled softly when the dog licked her hand and then lay down, closing his eyes. Hermione smiled to herself as she got up and undressed as she walked down the hallway. Her muscles hated the cold and acted up frequently.

Under the hot spray, she cried because she couldn't find the brilliant wizard. She cried for loosing her mother to a drunken car accident. She cried for the nightmares that kept her awake and covered in sweat most nights. She cried and cried and cried for the useless relationships that never got far, for the scars on her body, for her heavy weight, for being ugly, for being useless. When the water ran cold, she got out and wrapped herself in a green and silver towel before padding outside.

She turned off the fireplace and gently roused Crookshanks and Darcy. With a bit nudging on Crookshanks's part, Darcy hobbled down to Hermione's bedroom as she pulled on a clean pair of panties. In the light, her scars were all she could see.

The Mudblood from Lestrange, the hex from Dolohov and some of her own device made her frown as she pulled on a pair of simple black sweats. She reached into her underwear/bra/sock drawer and pulled out a pristine photo and sighed as she stroked it lovingly. After sliding on a loose t-shirt, she noticed Darcy staring at her.

The way he stared at her unnerved the witch, to the say the least. It didn't look like the stare a dog gave; it looked like the one a man gave an attractive woman. "See, Darcy? This is him—this is Severus Snape, the bravest man I ever knew." She got to her knees and showed him the photo.

It was one she had snuck while Snape was busy. He was dressed in simple shirtsleeves that were rolled up, his hair pushed back out of his face and making his features more pronounced, and his thick, black glasses gleamed in the light. He was obviously grading papers.

"He was, quite honestly, the most brilliant man I ever had the pleasure of meeting." She smiled softly, stroked the side of his jaw in the photo, and then returned it to the drawer.

Darcy barked very loudly, startling her half to death. She gave him a warning glare, to which he gave one of his own, and then she crawled into bed. Crookshanks occupied the pillow to her right side. Slowly, the bed dipped and a solid body pressed against her.

With a smile, she kissed the top of the dog's head and fell asleep, praying she wouldn't have nightmares. Two hours later, her screams echoed in the empty house.

* * *

[1] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling (book and movie)


	2. Chapter 2

Soundtrack: I talk to rain from Tsubasa Chronicles

* * *

Snape's Paws

Two

Snape's breathing was labored as he limped into the bushes, his back burning. What had possessed him to change into his Animagus form was beyond him. He slowly sank into the freezing snow and lay there; he was tired. His stomach growled but he ignored it, laying his head down on his front paws.

He fell asleep.

The Death Eaters had taken him as he was exiting Spinner's End near the end of August and held him in some cellar. They bound him, disarmed him and beat him until he passed out; each time they brought him back to consciousness to beat him again. They had managed to reopen most of the wounds on his back and nearly fracture his wrist; they took turns pissing on him and spitting at him.

He had waited until they got sloppy to charge; in a short burst, he had changed into a lanky black dog and escaped their clutches as he raced to the park. There had been a crack of thunder behind him—they had Apparated away.

Three days later, in the late afternoon, he sighed to himself and closed his eyes. _I can't believe this, _he muttered sourly as his stomach growled again. When was the last time he'd eaten? He glanced down at his side and was disgusted to find his ribs were sticking out. A pair of footsteps sounded and his head jerked up.

He let out a pitiful whine.

"I can't believe I'm so pathetic,"he grumbled as the leaves hiding him parted, revealing a flushed face. A girl stared down at him in surprise, her curly, wild hair framing her face. _Granger! _She crouched down in the snow and stroked the side of his snout; weakly, he snarled at her as he glowered up.

Softly, she began to whisper to him. "Ssh, you're gonna be just fine, baby." Gods, as if this wasn't humiliating enough, the little chit picked him up and stroked his underside. He squirmed and whined, turning his head away.

"Who did this to you, baby boy?" She was carrying him, stroking his head and sides softly and, although he hated to admit it, it felt nice. "You're a good boy," she said to him sweetly, stroking his ears softly. Reluctantly, he relaxed against her warm, soft breasts and listened to her heartbeat.

He breathed in her scent softly and was pleased to find she smelt of soap and light, very light but pleasant flowers.

"Here," she murmured as she set him down once they reached the inside of her flat. His legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor, the carpet tickling his sensitive nose.

The house's layout was simple: kitchen to the right of the foyer, a long hallway that split left and right, further down was an entertainment room. The walls were covered in light green wallpaper; the floors were padded with light beige carpeting. There were bookcases everywhere; there was a fire off to the left of the kitchen and, a few feet form the fireplaces, was a beat-up sofa and choppy-looking coffee table.

_Not bad, Granger, _Snape thought to himself as he got up and headed to the fireplace; getting warm was the Potions master's first priority. He could hear the young woman rattling around in the kitchen and lay down, exhausted, hungry, cold and agitated. Granger was talking non-stop so he glared at her as she bent down—dear Merlin, she looked very nice from that angle—and flipped on the fireplace.

She suddenly said something that made him freeze. "You haven't by chance seen a tall, thin man with long black hair, a sour expression and black eyes, have you?" He stared at her and _willed _her to understand him. _He _was _Snape! _But she shook her head and set down two bowls. He ate slowly and drank little.

"He's very important to me," she was saying as she peeled off her damp socks. They stank of dirty snow and sweat; he sneezed several times. She shimmied off her sweatshirt to reveal an off-the-shower crop top that showed off her figure.

She wasn't tight-bodied like the women who swarmed Fred and George Weasley; she was soft and full-figured with a larger belly, soft curves and thigh thighs—the exact type of woman he loved to get his hands on.

Her hair, wild and curly, fell into her face and then she brushed it into a bun. "He was the bravest man I ever knew," she said softly, her voice hoarse with emotion. He huffed and rested his head between his paws.

"You're a really quiet dog," she said. He eyeballed the orange cat fur on her sweatpants with distaste. "You, mister, need a bath but that'll wait until your back gets better." He snorted and her eyes narrowed at him. "I have a cat," she muttered, pausing in petting him.

Snape resisted the strong urge to butt against her. He may have been stuck as a dog but he still had his dignity; er, well, what was left of it anyway. A new scent filled his nostrils and he tensed, watching the half-Kneazle slink around the corner.

The squash-faced cat gave him a suspicious look before walking closer. "Hello, Severus Snape," he told Snape. Snape gave a start. "You can understand me?" he choked out. "Yes, animals can understand one another, regardless of species," explained Crookshanks calmly, yawning widely, showing off sharp incisors. Snape shifted as the Familiar stretched out beside him, pressed against his flank firmly.

"I used to have a dog. Hi name was Cyrus." Snape rested his cheek on Granger's hand. "I'll call you Darcy." He had to agree; he fancied the name and thought it suited his dark nature rather well.

Granger muttered something before getting to her feet, pulling off her crop top. Snape couldn't control the way his eyes followed her as she disappeared down the hallway he'd seen in the foyer. "She'll be crying, no doubt," said Crookshanks, licking his paw.

Snape scowled.

"Why is that?" he asked. Crookshanks's yellow eyes eyeballed him. "Guilt, depression, and, probably, sorrow. She lost her mum last month. Drunk driver. Her father's an empty shell. She thinks she's too fat."

Snape licked his lips. "I can assure you, your Mistress is not too fat. She's curvy, the kind of woman, I have to admit, that I'd pursue but…I wasn't even outside for less than ten minutes before getting kidnapped," Snape explained quietly, turning his head to the fire.

It danced and leapt, heat sinking into his chilled skin.

Crookshanks got to his feet and plopped down in front Snape's face. "My Mistress cares for you, whether you believe it or not. When she brought you home, she'd been looking for the human Snape for more than three hours." Snape's eyebrows rose.

"The Gryffindor princess was looking for the Bat of the Dungeons?" Snape mumbled, feeling too shocked to say much else. The cat licked his shoulder. "She's beautiful, a rare beauty…" Crookshanks meowed when Granger appeared, dressed in a Slytherin-green towel, her hair wet and dark against her skin. Her eyes looked rimmed with red and he could smell tears on her face.

She turned off the fire, nudged the animals to their feet, and headed down the hallway. "I sleep on her extra pillow," said Crookshanks as they entered her bedroom; Snape stopped mid-stride to stare at Granger.

Her skin was marred with scars. Her thighs, her arms were scratched up as she wiggled into a pair of black panties. She was curvy, with plenty of cushioning, thick, strong thighs and large, full breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra and he could see the stretch marks on her breasts and hips and stomach.

He never wanted to be human so much more than in that moment; he ached to feel her soft skin on his calloused hands. She reached into the top drawer and he caught a glimpse of scars underneath the underside of her breast. He felt hot all over, knowing she didn't know it was him and scowled when she pulled on a lost t-shirt.

"See, Darcy," Granger was saying when she showed him a picture—of _himself! _In human form, of course.

He hadn't been aware and was grading lazy papers with his infamous red quill, wearing his reading glasses (no one knew about them) to help read the horrible handwriting, his robes thrown onto the back of his recliner.

He looked very naked and, dare he say it, normal without his robes.

"He was, quite honestly, the most brilliant man I ever had the pleasure of meeting," she whispered, stroking the side of his face—was that adoration in her eyes? And why was she _smiling _at that damned picture of him? He was the Bat of the Dungeons!—and then she returned it to the dresser.

He let out a frantic bark, hoping to catch her attention but all she did was glare at him as Crookshanks to his spot on the pillow, smiling down at Snape. "Come on, she doesn't bite…that I know of," purred the cat with an amused tone.

Mindful of his back, Snape clambered up onto the bed—the damned thing nearly sucked him in like some sponge—and curled up against her stomach. Her lips brushed his nose and then she was asleep.

He couldn't sleep the entire night. Why did she have a picture of him? When had she given herself those scars? Would he ever be able to court her? Seeing as it was five in the morning, he decided to try to sleep.

Her screaming rang in the hollow house.


	3. Chapter 3

Snape's Paws

Three

She was having a nightmare and nearly whacked Snape in the face as she flailed, kicking away the blankets. Her legs gleamed under the moonlight with sweat; she stank of it, actually.

"Granger?" he asked tentatively as Crookshanks sank down beside him. "She can't hear you," said the cat while licking his mistress's fingers, "she has these every night. Once or twice, she'll wake up to vomit. A few times she's messed herself." The young woman threw back the covers and ripped off her damp gown.

Her underwear was soaked and the fabric reeked of urine. "They're frightening to the point of being unable to control her bladder." Snape looked away from the cat's knowing eyes—he probably knew that Snape had know n the feeling too many times as a side effect of the Cruciatus while he Seizured—and watched her dart into the bathroom, slamming the door. Retching was heard and soft crying followed. The water kicked on, pipes rattling and whining; she continued to cry and sob.

He wanted to comfort her, despite the fact she was annoying as hell, but couldn't figure out how. He stared at the door, willing for her to appear. "Let her cuddle you," suggested Crookshanks. Snape let his lip curl at the idea but was secretly pleased; he had wanted to brush her as long as he could remember.

The bathroom door opened and she stepped out, nude. She was beautiful, her body glistening, free of any hair or signs of her horrible nightmare; her hair was damp and fell around her face in damp curls. Her nipples swelled in the cold air of the room and she slid into a pair of black, flannel pajamas before slipping back into the bed.

He whined and inched closer until he was pressed up against her soft, curvy form. She wrapped her arms around him and sniffled, burying her face in his chest. He nuzzled her hair, wanting so very much to be human and stroke her hair.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she whispered, her body shifting against him. His cock was rock hard as her soft thighs rubbed against his side. Hermione smelt wonderful, light and airy; he preferred her scent to the heavily-perfumes he inhaled at the school on a daily basis from his female students.

"You're a good boy, Darcy," she whispered, kissing his forehead. He let his tail start to thump. When he lifted his head, she was laughing so hard, there were tears in her eyes. But she was smiling and, by God's grace, she gorgeous.

Her entire face glowed and he wanted to stroke her cheeks, see if they were as soft as they looked; her smile was white and slightly crooked and reeked of the spearmint toothpaste and mouth was she probably used; and she was relaxed against his side.

She stroked his ears until he was a puddle of goo and he couldn't deny it felt amazing; his ears, as a human, were extremely sensitive to the touch as well so he hardly touched them. "I just hope Severus is alright," Hermione whispered into his neck. He tensed for a split second as he remembered who he was.

He wasn't Darcy, the injured stray Hermione had taken in; he was Severus Snape, Animagus, Dumbledore's spy, Potions Master…ex-Death Eater. He let her stroke his face but detached himself with Occlumency from the pleasant sensations.

He thought hard about his human form. He was thin, not to the point of disgust but naturally so; he was pale as parchment; his hair was lanky and oily from the fumes he worked over day after day; his teeth were crooked; his voice was probably the only thing decent about him. He was tall, freakishly so; he was about to Hagrid's shoulder. He was scarred beyond belief.

His personality was even more off-putting than his appearance. He was snippy and "cranky all the time" as Minerva had called him on more than one occasion; he was anti-social and hated people. He was cold, mean and sadistic. He was evil, disgusting and pathetic.

He watched the angel beside him, her eyelashes casting soft, blurred shadows across her cheeks, her pink mouth parted slightly in relaxation; her hair fanned around her like a damp halo.

She had an arm and a leg thrown over him; his back had healed surprisingly well in the few hours he had been there. She slept peacefully. He rolled to his side and then kicked away from her.

Crookshanks watched him.

"She doesn't know, does she?" said the cat. Snape shook himself and scratched the blankets until he felt satisfied before settling down. He met the cat's yellow eyes. "What do you think?" he asked sourly as he laid his head on his paws. The cat yawned and stretched out his back. "You're going to turn back eventually," Crookshanks replied as he settled down in the crease between the two pillows. Hermione rolled onto her back and let out a snore.

Snape shook his head.

"I know. And I have no idea what I'll do when I do," Snape mumbled, closing his eyes. He was half asleep when Crookshanks spoke again. "I've always like you more than the redheaded idiot she chased after during fifth year," said the cat, licking his paws. Snape narrowed his eyes. "Weasley is a complete dunderhead; although his brothers, the twins, are very much talented with explosive devices like fireworks."

"They have their own shop." To be honest, Snape was half-listening. "You'd make a good match for Hermione." Crookshanks gave Snape a sly look. "Me? And her?" Snape gasped out, his face warming.

If a dog could blush, he certainly would be. "That's absurd. I'm nothing but vile and dark and cold and she's light and innocent and warm…we would never work. I'd smother the light that she has."

Crookshanks shrugged and curled up to sleep; Snape stared at Hermione until his eyelids drooped. Satisfied with his lack of thought, he lowered his head and fell asleep.

_You'd make a good match for Hermione. _


End file.
